


Traditions and Tribulations

by gingersprite



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (followed immediately by more fluff), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Established Relationship, F/M, Modern Westeros, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Yuletide, some blink-and-you-miss-it angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:21:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28223808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingersprite/pseuds/gingersprite
Summary: It's a week before Yule, and Theon's girlfriend is trying to kill him. Or at least, that's what he's been telling anyone who'll listen (and quite a few who won't) ever since he let Sansa talk him into going ice skating to celebrate the season.Too bad Theon's never skated before in his life.
Relationships: Theon Greyjoy/Sansa Stark
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23
Collections: Theonsa Yuletide Gift Exchange





	Traditions and Tribulations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [teeandrainbows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/teeandrainbows/gifts).



> Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, everyone! This is my gift to teeandrainbows for the Theonsa Yuletide gift exchange- she asked for something involving Sansa teaching Theon how to ice skate, and I absolutely fell in love with the prompt! I hope you like it, Tee!

This is how he dies: Theon’s certain of it. He’s going to slip and break his neck, or bash his head open, and then Yuletide will be forever marred by his gruesome death, how’d she like that? When he tells Sansa as much, his loving girlfriend rolls her eyes, nimble fingers not pausing where they lace up his borrowed skates.

“Don’t be such a baby,” she teases. “Look, there are _actual_ babies out there, and they’re doing just fine!” His eyes follow where she points- and alright, sure, there are little kids on the ice, looking like they’re having the time of their lives, but his point still stands.

“It’s unnatural,” he grouses, “water is supposed to be liquid. If the gods wanted us to dick around on ice, they would’ve given us the proper equipment for it!”

Sansa just huffs and gives his laces an extra tug before getting smoothly to her feet, like she doesn’t have fucking _knives_ strapped to the bottoms of them. Meanwhile, when she helps Theon to his feet, he feels like he’s about to topple over. 

Keeping both hands firmly latched to his bicep, she helps him hobble to the edge of the rink. Theon eyes the ice dubiously. Having grown up in a very traditionalist ironborn family he’s never quite gotten the fuss about Yule, certainly not when it comes to ridiculous things like skating. He could probably have backed out if he whined enough, but Sansa had been looking forward to this all week: and he’s never been able to deny Sansa Stark anything she really wanted.

“Alright, what now?”

“Just step out onto the ice, like this.” She lets go of his arm and demonstrates; somehow she makes it look completely effortless, lightly pushing off to glide across the ice. She switches from one foot to the other easily, even throwing in a little turn that makes her skirt whirl out.

“C’mon, you can do it!” she calls. Theon places a tentative foot on the ice and tests his weight, only to pull back almost instantly to sweet, solid ground.

“What if I fall?” he shouts back, any prior bravado leeched away.

Sansa laughs like that was a completely ridiculous fear to have and not totally rational on his part. “Then I’ll catch you!”

Well, how’s he supposed to argue with that? Theon makes up his mind then, steeling himself for the inevitable bruises he’ll get from this misadventure: he couldn’t always be brave for himself, but he could be brave for her. Theon manages to get both feet on the ice and by the time he pries his fingers off the railing, Sansa is there to take his hands in hers.

“That’s it, you’re doing great,” she says then leads him further out onto the ice, skating backwards so she can look at him. “Don’t look at your feet, keep your eyes up. Watch me, if it helps. And keep both feet on the ground.”

“Wait, what-”

“You’re not steady enough yet to take actual steps, we want to get you comfortable with the skates. Just slide one foot forward at a time, then push off with your back foot.” Letting go of his hands, Sansa demonstrates; Theon waits until she’s returned to try it for himself. His knees and ankles quake like a newborn fawn the entire time and he has to pinwheel his arms awkwardly for balance, but Sansa claps her gloved hands and cheers gleefully. 

“Perfect!” she praises. “Now we’ll just do that for a bit, and you’ve got it!” Theon manages a grin: he feels wildly ungainly, especially compared to her, but apparently he’s doing something right. She tucks her arm around his and they start to lap the rink: and even though they quickly find themselves being passed by kids, Theon can’t bring himself to care. His ego is nothing compared to the joy on Sansa’s face. 

Ordinarily they’d already be on their way to spend the holiday break with her family, but her insane editor decided to hold her hostage in the city until Yule Eve; and with holiday traffic being what it is, they’d be lucky if they made it back home by Boxing Day. She’d grown up skating on the pond outside the Stark’s farmhouse and it was a staple of her Yuletides growing up. Although the ice rink couldn’t quite compare, it went a long way to bring some much needed festive spirit.

Sansa stays true to her word and keeps him from falling, letting him lean on her as they inch their way along; at one point she even catches him when he feels himself start to slip and turns it into a little spin. It startles a laugh from him, his skates clunking as he tries to keep up. There’s a wildness to their joy as they stumble around each other with abandon, completely oblivious to the world around them.

By the time they’ve made a full loop around the rink, his legs have started to feel stable enough that he risks easing up his death grip on her arm. He can also tell that Sansa’s itching to show off some of her moves, and while he knows he can’t keep up, he’s happy to watch.

“You don’t have to hang back on my behalf, I think I’m actually starting to get the hang of this,” he says airily.

“Are you sure?” she asks, looking torn between keeping him steady and the thrill of skating in the center of the rink.

“Yeah, don’t worry! I’ll stick close to the edge,” he assures her. “I just want to watch you do all your fancy twirls and shit.”

Somehow her cheeks manage to pink even deeper. “Well, alright. But remember to keep your body leaned forward- oh, and if you feel yourself starting to fall, try and fall on your bum!”

Theon laughs hard enough to wobble slightly on his skates, clutching tight to her shoulders until he’s steady again. “Okay, I know that looked bad, but I’m fine, really. Go on now.”

Sansa gave him a suspicious once over before deciding he’d be alright on his own; she plants a quick kiss on his cheek then pushes off, skating backwards into the center of the rink where the more advanced skaters are. The movement of her skates is mesmerizing, the shink shink of the blades fading as she moves away.

Her earmuffs make it look like she had two fluffy, white snowballs on either side of her head, and the green peacoat only makes the copper of her hair shine even more brilliant. Giggly and rosy cheeked from the crisp air, she looks like part of the rink’s decorations- like a Yule sprite, or one of Father Winter’s elves. Watching her glide across the ice, Theon finds himself momentarily taken aback by how thoroughly gone he is for her.

Performing a quick series of steps, Sansa begins to pick up speed. She spreads her arms wide like she’s flying and leans forward, one leg brushing back into an arabesque. Still balanced on one foot, she sweeps her leg forward and tucks her arms in before turning into a tight spin, the force of it making her hair fly out around her in a halo. Two or three rotations later and she’s off again, making a lap around where the enormous, decorated fir stands. Theon cheers and claps when she executes a light jump- he’s got no idea what it’s called, Sansa could probably tell him- and she flashes him a beaming smile in return before carrying on.

What happens next is over before Theon even has time to process it: one moment she’s working up to another jump, the next she’s sprawled on the ice and clutching at her ankle. He has to fight against his instinct to run towards her, instead making the agonizing shuffle from the edge of the rink. By the time he makes it to her side a concerned, mumsy-looking woman is already tending to Sansa, her own children looking on from the sidelines. 

“Sansa, what’s wrong?” He’s already panting from that laborious trek over here, he has no idea how he’s going to carry her back if she can’t walk.

“She took a bit of a tumble, it happens,” the lady says kindly, helping Sansa to her feet- or rather, foot, as it soon becomes apparent that she can’t put full weight on her left foot. 

“It’s not a big deal, I’m fine,” she says unconvincingly, unable to hide a wince when she gingerly tests her injured foot again. Theon drapes her arm over his shoulder and tucks his arm around her waist, then with the kind stranger’s assistance they manage to hobble off the rink and over to a bench. When she undoes the laces, it’s a struggle to pull the skate over her already swelling ankle.

Theon grimaces at the sight. “Aw shit, babe, that doesn’t seem good.”

“Guess not.” She gives her foot a wiggle, whimpering miserably, but she’s able to point and flex her toes. “Ugh, I don’t think it’s broken.”

“You should probably get it checked out tomorrow, just to be sure, but it seems like a sprain,” the lady offers. “My Elinor broke her arm last year and she said it didn’t hurt much, just sort of tingled real odd like.”

Sansa huffs, “well, this definitely hurts!”

“Hells, do we need to get you to a doctor?” Theon asks, already patting down his pockets trying to find his phone and search for the nearest clinic when Sansa stops him.

“No, I’ve sprained things before, I know what to do.”

“Are you _sure?_ C’mon, Sans, you don’t have to play tough-”

“I’m not playing!” she says indignantly; then all the wind seems to go out of her sails, and she mumbles, “I’m fine, just… can we just go home, Theon?”

He melts at that, the quiet despair in her voice. “Yeah, ’course we can.”

The woman, Sal, returns their skates then insists on waiting with them for their cab- they’d walked to the rink originally, but it’s clear now that Sansa won’t be able to manage hobbling the couple blocks back to their flat. The cab ride home is stiflingly quiet, punctuated only by the occasional sniffle Sansa makes when she’s fighting not to cry. Theon feels like the most useless boyfriend in the world, unable to do anything except rub her back and glare daggers at the cab driver, daring him to ask what’s wrong.

Then they find out that the bloody snowplows have completely blocked off their street, because of course, so they have to get out and walk the rest of the way. Theon ends up carrying Sansa piggy-back style, his hands cupped under her thighs trying to jostle her injured ankle as little as possible while she buries her cold nose in his neck. Normally he’d make a lewd joke or try to cop a feel, but even he can’t find a way to make light of this.

They make it up the steps to the flat, where Lady’s there to greet them when he manages to get the door open. She whines miserably but stays put until commanded otherwise, thankfully far too well-trained to jump up while Theon gets Sansa settled on the couch.

“Right, what d’ya need?”

“Rice.”

“… so like, raw, cooked, fried?”

“No no, R-I-C-E,” she spells out. “It’s an acronym they taught us in ballet. Rest, ice, compression, elevation. Check the first aid kit, we should have ace bandages and cold packs, and some ibuprofen too.”

When Theon gets back with the requested supplies, he finds that Lady has made herself comfortable in his spot on the couch, her big furry head resting on Sansa’s thigh. Sansa’s also shucked her coat and boots and left them in a heap: normally she always insists on everything being put away nice and tidy, so this only drives home how poorly she must be feeling.

Theon gives her the kit and leaves her to it, knowing that he’d just end up hovering; instead, he pulls out the milk and cocoa powder and makes up two cups of hot chocolate. It’s not the fancy stuff like his mama used to make, boiled in a saucepan with actual chocolate chunks instead of the powdered stuff, but desperate times and all that.

Back in the living room, Sansa’s got her ankle wrapped up and stretched out resting on a pillow and ice. Lady casts a baleful glance at him when he gives her a nudge, eventually making enough room for him to squeeze in next to Sansa. He offers her a mug heaping with marshmallows, just the way she likes it, and she cracks a weak smile. 

“Any better?”

“Some.”

They sit in silence, drinking their cocoa, somehow feeling distant despite being pressed shoulder to hip. Theon is still trying to figure out how to fix this when Sansa beats him to it.

“I’m so sorry.” He almost misses her words, muffled as they are into her cocoa. 

“For what?”

“For showing off like that. It’s been a while since I’ve skated, I should’ve known better. And now I’ve wrecked your first time skating-”

Theon actually _snorts_ into his cocoa at that; only Sansa would be upset over her own injury ruining his fun. “You’re ridiculous, y’know that right? Best part of the whole thing was getting to see you having the time of your life out there.”

“… really?” she sniffles.

“Not that I didn’t like getting to try skating myself, but I only went along with it cause it made you so happy,” he explains. “I know it doesn’t feel right being here instead of with your family. We don’t even have space for a proper tree.”

“I do miss them a lot, and it would’ve been nice to have a tree,” she admits, “but it was more than that. I love all our Yule traditions, and I just wanted to share them with you. Sure gifts are nice, but they’re not what really make the season.”

“I think I get that now. Sorry I’ve been a bit of a wet blanket this whole time.”

Sansa hums thoughtfully at that. “Since it’s the season, I think I can forgive some light Scroogery.”

“Hey now, I’d say I’ve been more of a Grinch- ironborn, remember? I’ll steal all the Who-pudding and rare Who-Roast Beast.”

“Mhm, cute.”

“You certainly seem to think so…” He yelps when her playful smack on the arm almost causes him to spill his drink. “But seriously, why do they eat ‘Who-pudding’ if they _are_ Whos? Are they cannibals? Seems a little dark for a children’s story, that’s all I’m saying!” Theon can tell he’s started to go off the rails a bit with this, but it’s got Sansa giggling so he chooses to count that as mission accomplished. 

“I will literally pay you to _never_ bring up Who-cannibalism ever again. I'm talking sexual favors here.”

Theon smirks. “Eh, you love me.”

“Yeah, I do,” Sansa replies primly.

He’s proud of the way his voice doesn’t crack now when he says it back, unlike how it did the first few times he said it; he’s had a couple years to practice since then, and he’d say he’s gotten pretty good at it. “Well, I love you too, so there.”

“Glad that’s worked out then.” 

Sansa sets her finished mug on the floor- pretending not to notice Lady licking out the residue, because _good gods_ that dog is spoiled- and tugs at his arm until he wraps it around her. He presses a kiss to her hair, loving how she predictably melts into his side.

It’s still early enough that they might have time to squeeze in a cheesy holiday movie before bed; in the morning Sansa will be back in the office, working her nose to the grindstone trying to please her impossible boss, and Theon will be buried up to his ears in auto parts. But right now, they’re young and in love and at peace, in a crappy flat that’s too small for a Yule tree but still feels like a castle. 

And maybe once they’re finally free to go home to her family’s, Theon will brave skating out on the pond with everyone else- so long as Sansa’s there to catch him.

**Author's Note:**

> Some basic information about sprains [here](https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/sprained-ankle/diagnosis-treatment/drc-20353231); this is mainly based off my own experiences with having and treating sprains, if you have a sprain/possible break, always seek medical attention.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at gingersprites, hit me up there for more of my bullshit.


End file.
